The Paris Architect: A Novel

“You’re ice cold, old boy…a little warmer…nope, now you’re getting colder.”


He started to search the hall closet. Bette kept all the children’s toys and books hidden in a compartment at the rear of her closet in her bedroom. Boxes and boxes of junk were piled against it.

“Wait a minute,” Bette shouted, and the men stopped in their tracks. “There’s one up on top of the chandelier. Look, don’t you see him? He’s right above you. A Jew with a really big nose.” She shrieked with laughter.

Bette could see that the Gestapo officers knew they were wasting their time, but being efficient Germans, they continued a cursory search anyway. The one with the big ears went back into the bedroom and opened the closet door. This made Bette uneasy, and she felt she had to act.

“You know, since you’re here, you boys can do me a favor. Wait right here.” She went to a stack of boxes in the corner of the living room and pulled the lids off two boxes. The men watched her with great interest as she took out a long burgundy evening gown and a white one of the same length.

“Which one should I wear tonight? I need a man’s opinion.” Bette placed the white gown against her body. In the swaying motion of a runway model, she walked toward them and stopped then repeated the walk with the other gown. “After all, we girls wear these things to please our men. Well?”

“It’s quite elegant, mademoiselle. Of course on you, they both look wonderful,” stuttered the man with the glasses.

“Oh, you’re sweet. But which one? Red or white?” asked Bette.

“Definitely the red,” opined the man with the big ears.

“So, you’re both quite certain?” Bette held the burgundy gown at arm’s length to give it a final inspection.

“Yes,” both men said in unison.

“All right, if you gentlemen say red, then red it is. You’ve been a great help to me this afternoon, and I’m going to reward you.”

Bette was sure that the same fantasy flashed in both of the Gestapo officers’ minds and that they were disappointed when she threw the gown aside and walked over to the liquor cabinet.

“Two cognacs coming up. And don’t you dare say you don’t drink on duty.”

Bette delivered the drinks to her guests, who were most grateful.

“I’m so sorry you couldn’t find any Jews. Usually, the place is crawling with them—they’re reading the Old Testament, counting their money.”

The men looked at each other and laughed, gulping down their drinks.

“There must have been a misunderstanding, madame,” the one with big ears said. “We’re so sorry for bothering you. I hope you’re not upset with us.”

“Not at all, these things happen all the time. You boys were just doing your job.”

“You’re most understanding. We’ll be on our way. We’ve taken up enough of your time.”

Bette put a hand on each of their shoulders and guided them to the door as if they were blind, their eyes craning desperately for a last look at her. Once the door was shut, she leaned her back against it and let out a sigh. Keeping her ear to the door, she waited until she heard them leave the building. Bette headed straight for the liquor cabinet; she needed a stiff bracer to calm herself down. After someone had called to tip her off about the Gestapo raid, Bette barely had ten minutes to prepare—to hide the children and their belongings and get undressed.

She looked over at the windowsill and smiled. Emile and Carole hadn’t uttered a peep. Her heart was brimming with love for them. What brave kids they were. Bette tapped three times on the sill, and Emile, with great dexterity for a six-year-old, unfastened the inside latches. She lifted up the sill to see her children still lying on their sides and holding each other tight. They both looked up at her and smiled. Bette was on the verge of crying, but she held it in and reached down to gently lift Carole out.